


Nothing

by demurely1



Category: Garrow's Law
Genre: F/M, Gen, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demurely1/pseuds/demurely1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This follows from the scene in 3x03 when Garrow arrives home after being delayed by Melville.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/44404210@N04/7295504100/)

Will: _What can I do?_

Sarah: _Nothing._

 

Nothing.  It was exactly what Will had dreaded. 

The last few weeks he’d felt like an observer, unable to intervene, while Sarah pursued a seemingly impossible dream - determined to reclaim her son from Sir Arthur Hill.  She’d issued writs, instructed lawyers, even stolen jewellery to fund her ambition.  Throughout Will had only discovered her exploits after the fact.  Even so, he’d endeavoured to help her, working all hours on any case available to raise the funds, both to support their simple life together and to further her action against Hill.  But nothing he could do would ever reap sufficient reward.  Even at King’s Bench Will could do nothing.  He couldn’t argue the case on her behalf because, as Sarah had said, _he was her lover_.  He had a vested interest in her success. 

He crouched in silence by her prostrate body, his back against the wall.

Thanks to Melville’s guile, he hadn’t even been at home when she’d returned from Westminster, despite his promises earlier in the day.  Instead he’d arrived back to find this scene of mayhem – and Sarah, undressed, in a crumpled heap on the bare floorboards, her cheek pressed to the floor, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.  He had no idea how long she’d been lying there, he just knew he couldn’t leave her like this.

Will quickly raised himself to his feet and started removing his coat, as he walked over to survey the chaos on the other side of the room: the looking-glass was upturned, shattered, with shards of glass spread about the floor:  pillows, bedclothes, his favourite blue dress were strewn about in disarray. 

He retrieved the dress from where it had fallen, carefully shaking out the creases as he took it through to the living room to set it over a chair, discarding his own coat on another. Then he righted the looking-glass and carried it out, returning with the broom to sweep the broken glass away from the bedside into a small pile to deal with later. Then he collected up the pillows, shaking them briskly to remove any minute splinters, and remade the bed quickly smoothing out the sheets and re-laying the counterpane.  Finally, he went to Sarah’s drawer and pulled out her simplest nightdress, disturbing grains of lavender and filling the room with their scent.  He breathed in deeply and walked round to where Sarah still lay.

“Sarah,” he said softly, as he knelt down on one knee beside her. “Sarah, I know what has passed.  Indeed, I feel your anguish, but I don’t want you to stay like this.  I’m going to lift you from the floor.” He snaked one long arm around her waist and the other under her knees and gathered her up quickly, as he stood up and then sat back onto the bed.  She sat in his lap like a lifeless rag doll, her arms hanging limply, her head leaning against his chest, her eyes still blank.  Will had to fight the urge to just hold her and rock her in his arms, such was the torment he felt at her obvious devastation.  But he had to go on.

“I know I cannot ease the pain in your heart, nor the hurt in your soul,” he continued, lifting and perusing her hands and fingers for signs of injury, “but I can try to make your body comfortable.” He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes.  “I promised I would be here to take care of you.  I am indeed sorry I was not here sooner.” He hoped for some response, but saw none.  So he kissed her gently on the forehead and continued, now checking her feet for possible injuries, whilst untying her garters and removing her stockings.  

Satisfied that whatever had broken the mirror had not injured her further, he stopped and looked into her eyes again. “I’m going to finish undressing you and put you to bed,” he spoke calmly, despite his own inner torment.  “I want your body to rest, even if your heart and mind won’t.” He stroked a thumb from her brow, down her cheek to her jaw.  Then he tucked some loose hair back behind her ear.  “Just leave everything to me,” he added, reassuringly, “you need not talk, if you do not wish to.”

Over the past few months, Will had become quite adept at undressing his lady, learning  quickly which hooks, buttons and ties he needed to undo and the best order in which to tackle them.  Usually, however, Sarah was a willing participant in this endeavour, not a lifeless puppet, seemingly unaware of his actions.  It had also become customary for them to discuss their days at some point in the evening.  So, Will decided he would carry on as usual and tell her about the Calderon case, whilst undressing her, hoping the sound of his voice would be additional balm to his ministrations.

“I have an interesting case to prosecute tomorrow,” he began, as he tilted her torso forward to lean against his shoulder, and released hooks and ties.  He went on talking about the colony of Trinidad, its military governor and his despicable use of torture, while carefully lifting her and removing petticoats and bustle.  He continued explaining the case against the governor, as his attention turned to her stays.

Sarah watched Will’s face from close quarters as he concentrated on her shoulder straps, his brow creasing and relaxing again as he released a button.  She gazed at his blue eyes, noticing the grey flecks around the irises, remembering how beautiful she found them.  Then her eyes were drawn to his lips.  He was prattling on about Trinidad or something.  As he spoke she could see his white teeth.  He leaned sideways reaching behind her to ease the lacings of her stays wider.  Now she noticed his hair drawn back tightly into that black ribbon, his lustrous queue resting against his strong back. 

Suddenly she realised he’d stopped speaking.  She was sitting naked in his lap yet he was distracted by her shoulder, gently rubbing the mark left by the strap of her stays with his thumb.  She watched him lean forward and brush his lips over the red chafe mark.  She smiled inwardly.  “Now he’ll kiss the other shoulder,” she thought, watching his face again.  He was ever concerned about the discomfort caused by her tight stays and its effect on her body, frequently exclaiming disbelief that women were willing to endure such irritation.  She waited, knowing his eyes, fingers and ultimately lips would next be drawn to the lines across her breasts; knowing also that once his attention was focused on her breasts, he’d be unable to leave them without addressing them directly. 

She was amused by how he admired and adored her breasts, taking any opportunity – when they were alone - to pay them due compliment.  She loved the way he would take each one in his mouth, tantalising the nipple with his tongue and the brush of his teeth, sucking so hard she was driven to squeal in ecstasy - her hands thrust into his hair guiding his head and mouth to where she wanted him pay compliment next. .. 

She looked up and blinked to find Will looking into her eyes, his brows raised quizzically. 

“Anyway,” he went on, convinced he’d seen a response, just as he’d stopped short of kissing her breasts. 

She leaned her face into his chest again.  His chatter continued as he began stroking her shoulders and arms.  He made her feel secure and safe, just as the floor had.  

She could remember getting back to their rooms utterly despondent after what had passed at the Court of Chancery.  Furious with herself for thinking that seeing Samuel would be enough; for allowing this dreadful state of affairs to arise; for letting herself fall in love.... where was he anyway? That object of her adulterous passion?  That cause of her contamination?  She wanted to scream and rail at him.  But instead her fury had been directed at the bed they shared; kicking off her shoes, pulling off his favourite blue dress, flinging pillows, bedding.... only the crash of the looking-glass had brought her to her senses.  She flung herself on to the bed wailing and groaning, rolling and rocking, beating her fists until she fell off  – on to the floor.  It just held her there.  It didn’t judge.  She pressed her face and body against it.

“I think she’ll make an extraordinary and powerful witness.  She’s a striking, young mulatto woman, certain to make a mark on the proceedings **and** the Bailey.”   He looked into her eyes again and smiled broadly, as his hand moved over her hip and thigh.  “You would like her, I think!  She reminds me of you.  You must come to the Bailey tomorrow and meet her.....and George Pinnock too!”  His concentration drifted again to incidents earlier in the day, as he shifted her body to stroke one large hand repeatedly over her back and down to her rump. “But, perhaps, you have already met him?” he remarked, stopping to look down at her, remembering her recent dealings with Mr Southouse.   She was staring wide-eyed straight back at him.

“Oh!” he chuckled, “Miss Calderon?  It was her determination that I recognised.” His expression became more serious, his hands stilled and his voice softened again. “Despite the discrepancy in society and lineage between you both, she too is fighting repression and injustice and, like you, is determined to face her oppressor in court.”  He stopped and regarded her once more. 

Suddenly Sarah’s face crumpled, an enormous sigh shook her shoulders and tears streamed down her face.   Will wrapped his arms about her, comforting her, kissing her hair, holding her face against his body.  “Tears are good.  Tears are good,” he whispered. “Let them come.  Let them wash away some of the pain.” He held her tightly rocking back and forth while her tears fell on his waistcoat, and his tears fell on her hair. 

After some minutes Will sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his face.  He tilted Sarah’s face up to his own and kissed her eyes, cheeks and then lips.  Then he reached across the bed for her nightdress, quickly putting it over her head and pulling it down over her body.  He gathered her up in his arms again, and carried her round to the other side of the bed, laying her on the smoothed sheet and pulling the covers over her.  Then he knelt by her pillow.  “Rest now, my love.” he said, stroking her face and arms, then looking once more into her eyes, a wry smile on his face.  “I’ll watch from the table, as I work on my papers - should you need anything.  Or would you rather I lie with you until you sleep?”

Sarah responded with the merest shake of her head.

“As you wish.  I have much to ponder myself,” he mused, recalling Melville’s offer.  His honour **was** in his own hands.  So was his love.  He looked back at her as he sat down to his papers.  Long ago he had promised he would ensure her both her loves.  Now, the opportunity was within his grasp.  What had Melville said?  _Compromise or fail._  

Doing nothing was no longer an option.


End file.
